


Star Catcher

by yozra



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fluff, M/M, a touch of melancholy, and stardust, lots of magic, stars stars stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22209109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yozra/pseuds/yozra
Summary: Keiji is a catcher of wishing stars, and one day a very strange one lands straight into his arms.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Akaashi Keiji
Comments: 69
Kudos: 212





	1. A Star?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story came to be during that odd little period between Christmas and New Year’s where you don't know whether you're coming or going. I decided to wait to post until today because it was this time last year that I posted the first chapter of my first story after taking my writing seriously.
> 
> Please also take a look at the [beautiful art](https://microfroggo.tumblr.com/post/190464395034/yozrateru-s-star-catcher-had-me-obsessed-ive) by microfroggo and the [heartwarming art](https://kitsuanne14.tumblr.com/post/621481168773283840/keiji-look-up-not-down-star-catcher-by) by kitsuanne14 – they are so glittery and magical♡ X3

When Keiji gazed at stars, he looked down, not up.  
  
This was because he squatted to view stars reflected in the square mirror placed on the floor, a thick sheet he could barely curl his fingers around to lift within his outstretched arms.  
  
Keiji once mused it was easier to look down, the head being a weighty thing filled with considerations and decisions lit by bursts of brilliance which – while sparking excitement – also shed light on the swamps of worries and doubts on which thoughts struggled to stay afloat.  
  
But that wasn’t the reason he looked at the stars through the mirror. The mirror was a special one, only reflecting stars that mattered—

The wishing stars.  
  
Tonight, there was a crystal clear view of the sky and Keiji gazed at the reflection of a big bright star playfully flickering away, ones smaller sticking to it appearing dull in comparison even though he knew they were all brighter than any of the normal stars. If he was of the age to make a bet, he would be willing to bet that that biggest star was the brightest anyone would ever see.  
  
It was also the biggest nuisance, refusing to move from its position and clinging onto the smaller, making it rather difficult for Keiji to loosen any of them to send them falling. If this continued for another week his stock would be completely depleted. If it continued for two, he would go out of business.  
  
Keiji pulled down the goggles so it at least covered and shaded his eyes, though light snuck in from the gaps at the sides from them being too oversized – much like the thick gloves he had to keep pulling up to his elbows, and the boots that slipped while lifting his feet, and the coveralls with the sleeves and hems rolled up because he was still a growing boy and couldn’t be buying a new set of clothes every few months.  
  
Keiji gave the star a prod.  
  
It jolted, and blinked.  
  
He flexed and stretched his fingers before carefully reaching for the sides of the mirror; with a soft grunt he lifted it off the ground, and shakily shifted the weight on his feet as he pushed himself up. He then positioned the mirror so the stars fell into its centre.  
  
Taking in a deep breath and then releasing it, he gave the mirror a single hard shake.  
  
A gust whisked up past him, rising all the way out of sight to the sky.  
  
It took a few moments, but the stars eventually shook, and shimmered.  
  
Keiji carefully put the mirror down and grabbed the basket he had set aside, and straightened to hold it high above his head.  
  
And he waited.

And then he waited some more.

Slowly he lowered the basket and lifted his head back to the sky.

  
Now the bigger star looked like it was trembling as it clung onto the smaller, sturdier stars.  
  
It was a strange phenomenon.  
  
Setting the basket down by his feet, Keiji peeled off the glove on his right hand so he could lift the chain around his neck; dangling off it was a small bottle that was filled with a golden glow.  
  
A wishing star was a precious thing and he disliked using it on himself. But times were desperate, and he reasoned one must be sacrificed for the greater good of collecting more.  
  
He fumbled with the cork and pulled it off, putting the glass to his lips and taking a drink. It made him feel tingly warm – almost too warm – but he also felt power rippling through.  
  
Keiji quickly went through the process of putting his glove back on, and lifting and positioning the mirror so that once again the stars were centred.  
  
And closing his eyes, and breathing slow – inhaling deep and exhaling long – Keiji made a wish for the big bright star to fall.  
  
No matter how much power the bottled wish held, it wasn’t enough just to make the wish – he had to believe. He had to believe he would wrap his arms around the big star. He had to imagine taking it home with him, setting it carefully down on the cushion, coaxing it into sharing its strength for the sake of others.  
  
There was no point making wishing charms and potions for others if he didn’t believe in them himself.  
  
When he felt the feeling of something slotting into place in his chest, he gave the mirror a good strong shake to send a bigger wave rippling through the sky.  
  
Once again he put it down to quickly pick up the basket, holding it up to the sky, except this time he continued to look up to check for progress.  
  
He waited one minute.  
  
The stars shook.  
  
Two minutes.  
  
The big star released the little stars.  
  
Three.  
  
And finally began to grow bigger.   
  
Keiji smiled to himself. A big star would mean more to be bottled and more to be mixed, more wishes to go around. It would mean he could be generous with the amounts used in the next batch.  
  
Keiji lowered the basket slightly, the star growing bigger and bigger and bigger in size – another new phenomenon.  
  
He only managed to widen his eyes when something crashed into him, smacking the wind from his lungs as he tumbled backwards, the basket rolling off aside.  
  
He gasped for breath, and groaned.   
  
The star was heavy. Heavier than the mirror, and far heavier than the duty entrusted to him on the day he learnt to ask the question why.  
  
And as he opened his eyes, two golden ones stared back that would have made his eyes sore if he didn’t have his goggles on. He stared at the eyes – lucent, and a strange mixture of a vigorous flame underneath the clearest of lakes.  
  
“What was that for?”  
  
The accusation popped his awe.  
  
“What do you mean?” Keiji replied.  
  
“You made me fall!”  
  
Keiji frowned. “What were you doing up there?”  
  
“I was resting!”  
  
Although this strange little boy was being slightly rude, Keiji remembered his manners, realising he shouldn’t react by being equally rude. “I’m sorry for disturbing your rest, but I was simply doing my job.”  
  
“What job?”  
  
“I’m a star catcher. It’s my job to shake the stars free from the sky for me to catch in that basket over there, where I will take them back home to be bottled, or mixed into potions as an ingredient.”  
  
The boy looked up from where he came, thinking over Keiji’s answer.  
  
“Star Catcher?” he finally asked.  
  
“Star catcher,” Keiji agreed.  
  
The boy pondered some more, this time with a small frown. Keiji flicked a glance to the boy’s hair shocked into his style, fine strands looked to be made of glittering trails left behind by shooting stars.  
  
“What’s a star?”  
  
Keiji blinked.  
  
He pointed to the sky. “Those glittering dots up in the sky there.”  
  
The boy followed to where Keiji pointed, nodded in understanding, and looked back down at him.  
  
“Am I a star?” The boy asked.  
  
Keiji blinked once more, and shook his head. “You most certainly are not.”  
  
This time the frown deepened, the boy not quite satisfied by the answer.  
  
“But I fell from up there and you caught me,” he insisted.  
  
“Yes, but you don’t look like a star.”  
  
“What does it look like?”  
  
“If you remove yourself, I can show you.”  
  
The boy rolled off to the side and Keiji pushed himself up onto his elbows, then pushed himself again so he was sitting up. One last push and he was on his feet, to walk over to where his basket lay. A sprinkling of stardust fell from his head as he reached down.  
  
“You’re all glittery,” the boy pointed out. Keiji ruffled his hair and more glitter scattered before his eyes; this would be a nuisance to wash out. “You look pretty.”  
  
“You must have travelled through the stardust on your way down,” Keiji said matter-of-factly. “And thank you.”  
  
Keiji returned to where the mirror lay on the ground, and turned to the boy, holding out the basket. “If you would be so kind as to hold this basket, I will shake the other wishing stars from the sky.”  
  
The boy eagerly nodded and grabbed the basket off him.  
  
Keiji dusted off his hands and then flexing his fingers once more, crouched down and lifted the mirror, carefully—  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Keiji looked up to meet curious eyes. “I’m aligning the stars so they fit inside the mirror. Trying to pick and shake stars from the sky is impossible, but with this magic mirror, there’s no distance and it allows me to move reflected stars as I will them to. If you keep your eyes to the sky, I can show you.”  
  
The boy looked up. Keiji pushed at the stars on the mirror so they were aligned in a line.  
  
“If I shake the mirror, it will jog the stars free and send them falling.”  
  
The boy hummed, in interest, and in doubt. “Let’s see then.”  
  
Keiji pursed his lips, thinking the boy would be seeing it right now if he hadn’t interrupted.   
  
He turned his attention back to the mirror and positioned the stars centrally, then gave it a big strong shake.  
  
“You should lift the basket over your head,” Keiji said as he looked up. “I made it so stars will be immediately drawn into the basket once near, so you won’t have to worry about them hitting you.”  
  
The boy raised the basket high over his head, reaching as far as his arms would allow. Keiji gave a satisfied nod and looked back up at the sky to find the stars finally growing bigger as it fell, but not so big that it was the size of a human crashing into him.  
  
“Here they come. Be prepared.”  
  
From the corner of his eye he could see the boy try to position himself in readiness. Keiji didn’t tell him, but he knew it would be impossible for the boy to catch the stars. It took too much practice to position oneself—  
  
One landed straight into the basket.  
  
It wasn’t like the magnetic pull the basket emitted to draw the stars gently into its centre. The star shot right into the middle like the basket was its target.  
  
Like the boy was its target.  
  
Keiji shifted to fully face the boy.  
  
The boy continued to catch the stars, one by one, in the basket Keiji had been taught to weave out of his dreams and dedication.  
  
And when the stars had all been caught, the boy lowered the basket and peered inside.  
  
“These are stars?”  
  
Keiji also peered over the edge to see the familiar golden globs of light. He sighed in relief; they would last him at least three months, more than long enough for the next group of wishing stars to appear.  
  
“Yes. So you see, you can’t be a star. You’re far too big and not glowing brightly enough.”  
  
Although Keiji wouldn’t hesitate to admit the boy had the brightest eyes that rivalled the glows inside the basket.  
  
The boy hummed, even less convinced. “I still think I’m a star,” he said and reached in—  
  
“Don’t touch them!”  
  
But it was too late, he had dug his hand in – Keiji gasped and held his breath, cold dread shooting through him--  
  
The boy pulled out the glow.  
  
Keiji widened his eyes.  
  
“How are you doing that?” he asked, breathless.  
  
The boy looked to him. “They’re just stars.”  
  
“They’re not _just_ stars.”  
  
It was too dangerous to hold the stars without any protection. They latched onto the person and consumed them whole so that desire would fill their heads and take over their minds. It was reversible, as things often were, but it required mental training. Keiji had experienced it so he could understand the stars’ effect; it took him two years to shake the desire free, and sometimes he felt a ghost of a pull from its memory.  
  
“How are you doing that?” Keiji asked again, this time a stronger demand.  
  
The boy shrugged. “I’ve been playing with these recently.”  
  
“You’ve been... playing with them?”  
  
The boy nodded. “It’s the only thing that’s been fun. I blinked and I was suddenly in this black space. And then some time later, these things appeared and came to me. And then after, I played with them. I got tired and I decided to sleep a bit. And then something poked me awake! And the next second I was falling to you.”  
  
Keiji rubbed his chin. “Could a human really be a star…?”  
  
“I’m not a human, I’m a star! A star in the shape of a human!”  
  
Keiji dropped his arm. This time it was his turn to be unconvinced, but he had a feeling the boy would become troublesome if he continued their debate. “Then what will you do now?”  
  
The boy looked up at the sky. “It’s too high for me to get back up. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to, my body feels heavy.”  
  
“That’s how it feels to be on earth.”  
  
The boy looked into the basket, his face glowing.  
  
He turned to Keiji. “I’ll help you catch the stars!”  
  
“Don’t you think finding your way back home should take priority?”  
  
The boy shook his head. “I was bored up there. And I want to know more about you!”  
  
“I’m just a star catcher,” Keiji said. “It’s not a very interesting job.”  
  
The boy cocked his head and looked displeased. “You’re not _just_ a ‘star catcher’, it sounds interesting to me. And I can carry these for you without you getting hurt.” The boy widened his eyes suddenly, a thought striking him. “I get it – you don’t like me.”  
  
“I didn’t say that,” Keiji said quickly.  
  
“So I can stay?”  
  
A hopeful question asked by the boy with a shimmery sheen to his skin and gold dust coating his clothes, with glittery hair and round, pleading eyes – Keiji lifted up his goggles and squinted. Considering their brightness it didn’t hurt to look, but they did strain his eyes a little.  
  
And there was warmth radiating from him, a buzz of energy; Keiji wouldn’t be surprised if he would be able to feel it even if they had been a greater distance apart.  
  
Keiji concluded he liked everything about the boy.  
  
He slipped his goggles back over his eyes again. “I suppose if that’s your wish… I would be happy if you stayed. My name is Keiji. What’s your name?”  
  
The boy beamed. “Koutarou!”  
  
“Koutarou?” Keiji asked, like he knew the name from somewhere, but couldn’t quite remember where. It wasn’t the name of anyone he knew, whether of a famous person or the people in the village (not that he knew many people’s first names, only of the children who lived close by). It wasn’t the name of a village, or a country, or a sea. Yet it felt familiar somehow.  
  
“Koutarou...” Keiji drew out the pause while he thought, feeling like something was missing. “Koutarou… kun?” Keiji’s frown deepened. “Koutarou... san...” With a nod to himself he said more firmly, “Koutarou-san.”  
  
“You can just call me Koutarou.”  
  
Keiji thought on that for a moment, then shook his head. “No, if you really are a star then you’re a much bigger existence than I, so you must be treated with respect.”  
  
“Well, I think you’re just as important, so I’ll call you ‘Keiji-san’.” Koutarou pulled a face. “I don’t like the sound of that. You feel further than the stars up there.”  
  
“Then call me Keiji.” He liked the way it sounded when said by Koutarou.  
  
“Okay! But if you get tired you can switch to Koutarou any time!”  
  
“I’ll bear that in mind. For now though, I shall call you Koutarou-san.”  
  
Koutarou shifted the basket to hold it under one arm and came up to Keiji – he grabbed his hand. It felt almost too warm and made his palm slippery, but Keiji liked the feeling all the same.  
  
“Then it’s all set! Show me where you live, Keiji, I want to know everything about you!”


	2. A Wishing Star?

Keiji sneezed.  
  
As much as it surprised him to sneeze himself out of his dreams back into the real world, he much preferred it to the alternative – sleep knocked out along with his breath and him clawing at the sheets as he gasped for air, not unlike the sensation all those years ago when Koutarou had fallen from the sky.  
  
(This only happened if he continued to sleep until sunset. It also happened more often than he liked to admit.)  
  
Whether awake or asleep, the stardust always made him sneeze. It scattered as he pottered about the house and shifted with him stirring in his sheets. It decorated their furniture so they were uniformly stippled metallic, became embedded between every fibre of any material, coated all of the books, the cutlery, _the_ _food_ ; at first Keiji had been suspicious about consuming so much stardust, believing it couldn’t have been good for him, however with no side effects he quickly concluded it was safe. If anything, he felt like it gave him quiet energy, which undulated under his every action.  
  
But when Koutarou was involved, it was best to err on the side of caution.  
  
Keiji sat up – sneezed – sniffed and rubbed his nose. Anyone would think he was allergic with the amount of times he sneezed. Sadly, it was just him ‘blessed’ with a nose that happened to be overly sensitive.  
  
As always, the curtains had been drawn open by Koutarou sneaking in to do so before leaving the house. Keiji was thankful the bedroom’s design forced the midday sun to stop short just by the window, but the day was still bright enough for him to squint and contemplate drawing them closed again. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed instead, turning his back to the window to rub sleep from his eyes—  
  
Akaashi straightened himself. He had work to do.  
  
He got up, made the bed, went next door to Koutarou’s room to make his bed, went about his usual routine to refresh and awaken himself, and then changed out of his pyjamas into a crisp navy shirt and black trousers.  
  
(His knowledge on fashion may have been limited, but he knew which colours brought out the magic of wishing stars and stardust.)  
  
When he pattered down the hallway into the kitchen, food awaited him on the counter – onigiri, because that was what he woke up to best and kept his energy up throughout the night. _Large_ onigiri, a little hefty to hold in one hand, and wrapped with at least two layers of seaweed concealing tightly packed rice and the mystery flavour of the day. Naturally, a sprinkling of glitter.  
  
Akaashi sat in the peaceful quiet of the dining room, ruminating on what needed to be done as he chewed slowly through each mouthful.  
  
After he finished eating, he washed the seaweed and stickiness off his fingers, went on through into the largest room of the house (which was at the back but was technically the front, it being the space of his shop and studio combined). Bottles were grouped on the shelves that lined all four walls, mixtures in containers along the whole length of the worktop, and not to forget, more layers of stardust; it probably contained the most amount of stardust in the whole house, but that was to be expected when it was a space where he worked directly with the glowing orbs.  
  
Akaashi put on his goggles – now a perfect fit on his head – and picked up the rack of bottles he had set aside the previous night.  
  
(Although he officially retained the title ‘star catcher’, he personally classified himself as a ‘star concoctor’, working throughout the night on his potions; Koutarou was now the one to bear the catcher name, having instantly loved the idea of catching and collecting stars, willingly rushing outside whatever the season or weather. Not to mention, he had the unique advantage of being unharmed from direct contact, though he always used the basket to carry them home.)  
  
Akaashi measured the golden liquid into others more earthy, murky, and dun. As soon as the liquids touched, colours burst forth, and he would take his sheaves of observations meticulously recorded throughout the years and checked the subtle variations in hues and intensity so he could categorise them correctly. It was a rare instance for him to come across a new shade, and when he did, he placed a single drop on the tip of his tongue to taste; a sweet solution indicated success whereas salty indicated failure, although it had been many a year since he had had to throw a concoction away.  
  
He then stored them in their respective colour groups ready to be plucked off the shelf whenever a visitor came for his help. As with all services provided by their village, one had to physically carry their feet to their intended store to order or purchase or trade. This was due to the villagers adhering to the wisdom of the owls, assisting their subject by gaining a glimpse of their distant future only by studying them closely in person.  
  
Akaashi worked until he felt his back stiffen and he would stretch, take a wander around the room to stir his muscles (and stardust) awake, then return again to his worktop – but not before stopping at the stove to make himself some tea. More often than not he left the tea to cool, only to pick it up and pull a face at drinking the liquid gone cold. He would drain it in one go and repeat the process of wandering and brewing and drinking cold tea all over again, several times throughout the night.  
  
When Akaashi sensed night was nearing its end, he walked over to the window to check the skies – an extremely thin veil of yellow was appearing in the horizon and Koutarou had yet to appear.  
  
Any day that wasn’t a star-catching day, Koutarou busied himself by dashing around the village, helping anyone who needed extra hands or strength. He even went to neighbouring villages, sometimes going so far as to return at dawn (but always returning before Akaashi turned in for the night.) As tonight was a star-catching day, Koutarou would have spent the night in the clearing they had first met, catching stars – or waiting for the stars to appear so he could catch the stars. The fact he hadn’t returned yet meant one thing: the wishing stars didn’t make an appearance tonight.  
  
Wishing stars generally appeared monthly, but sometimes they appeared late; in all his years working Akaashi had experienced no more than a three-day delay. When he had been star catcher, he would take a quick look into the mirror and finding it empty, would promptly return home so as not to waste the evening, trusting they would appear on the following day, and failing that, the day after.  
  
But Koutarou, he liked to wait by sitting outside and gazing up at the night sky and the stars; he periodically glanced down at the mirror, and finding it void would raise his head once more.  
  
Keiji knew, because he had followed Koutarou on the night of his first solo star-catching – just in case, even though he knew nothing would go wrong – and had hid himself behind one of the trees, watching. He watched until he noticed the navy start to brighten and he realised he needed to rush back home to pretend he had been waiting inside all along.  
  
Keiji put the kettle on for what would be the last time this evening.  
  
Just as he picked up the tin of tea leaves, he heard a slow creak; a contrast to the usual energetic slams. Glancing over his shoulder, he found Koutarou stepping inside; Koutarou caught his eye – smiled – and shook his head.  
  
“None tonight.”  
  
Keiji returned a smile back, a little regretful, but it wasn’t to do with a delay in business. “It happens. You must be cold – I’m brewing you your favourite.”  
  
Koutarou’s favourite being leaves which grew in the deepest heart of the woods at the bottom of the valley an hour’s walk from the village. They were picked on the most clouded of nights and dried twelve times under the light only of the full moon. It was a delicacy they saved for these particular nights when their spirits needed uplifting, the tea light on the tongue though heavy on the stomach, making Keiji feel sleepy and sated with no need to eat for the day. Koutarou claimed it was like drinking liquid moonlight. Keiji didn’t know what liquid moonlight tasted like, and he was sure Koutarou didn’t either, but he had to say he could find no other suitable comparison.  
  
“You’re the best, Keiji!” Koutarou dropped the basket by its spot next to the door and came to hover behind Keiji as he unscrewed the lid and sprinkled a pinch of the tea – as soon as it hit the water the steam turned smoky grey, and he poured out the liquid – cloudy-blue – in each glass cup. Keiji sneaked a glance to the side to watch Koutarou lift the cup and inhale the steam before taking a large gulp; Koutarou drinking boiling tea without so much as a wince was one of the earliest tells to label him a star—  
  
(But Keiji had yet to be one hundred percent convinced he was one.)  
  
Koutarou led them back into their living room – Keiji turning off the lights of the workshop for another night on his way out – and they settled themselves into their respective chairs. Keiji’s was a low midnight-blue arm chair that welcomed him into its embrace, and he sank into the fluffed up cushions, taking a moment to spread his folded blanket over his lap. Koutarou’s seat was the matching foot rest, a simple cushion that was just as soft to sit on. Keiji had suggested they buy one that suited Koutarou’s build and taste, but Koutarou said it was fine – he insisted he liked that he could move about and change positions, and that he could see Keiji’s expressions better from the lowered position.  
  
“The stars’ll be there tomorrow!” Koutarou assured. He said this every time the stars were late.  
  
Keiji gave a small nod. “I’m sure they will. And if not, then the day after. I’m not worried, Koutarou-san.”  
  
Koutarou took a few gulps of his drink while watching Keiji over the rim of the cup, and Keiji knew it to be a sign that he wanted to ask a question.  
  
Lowering his own cup, he asked, “Is something the matter?”  
  
Koutarou mirrored his movements. “You still call me ‘Koutarou-san’ after all these years.”  
  
“Well… yes. It’s the manner in which I decided to address you.”  
  
“When are you going to drop the ‘san’?”  
  
Keiji looked into his drink; the steam was paling. “When I feel it right.” Keiji imagined what it would be like to call him ‘Koutarou’ and frowned into his drink – it didn’t sound right at all.  
  
He glanced back and noted the pout. Koutarou was dissatisfied, but he would leave the topic be for another time.  
  
In the mornings, Koutarou recounted the events of his day, with interjections whenever something reminded Keiji about the night’s visitors. On star-catching days, they were prone to reminiscing about days long and recently past. Sometimes they just talked, sometimes Keiji scanned through books while Koutarou made the odd comment.  
  
On star-catching days where they were left empty handed, a thoughtful silence fell between them and they drank, in quiet. Keiji glanced every now and again to Koutarou and watched, until Koutarou noticed and looked up to ask what was wrong. Shaking his head, Keiji would look away.  
  
And when he returned his glance, he would find Koutarou’s eyes on him.  
  
“What’s the matter now, Koutarou-san?”  
  
“I was thinking how beautiful you looked.”  
  
Keiji was older and too used to hearing this remark to feel any embarrassment.  
  
“There are other more beautiful views in the world.” Keiji drank the last mouthful of tea and pushed himself off the chair, draping the blanket over the arm rest. “You just haven’t found them yet.”  
  
“I saw the view of the world and that’s still nothing compared to you.”  
  
That made Keiji warm in the face, and he took Koutarou’s empty cup from him. “Your sweet words will not get you out of doing the washing up, the dusting, or the laundry.”  
  
“That’s not why I said it!”  
  
As soon as Keiji’s back was turned to Koutarou, his mouth curled into a smirk, and he put the cups into the sink for Koutarou to take care of. He then went to wash his hair and have a short soak in the bath—  
  
(Both of which did nothing to get rid of the glitter. Keiji wondered how they continued to stick to him.)  
  
When he had dried himself and changed into pyjamas, he entered his bedroom to find Koutarou already waiting. Koutarou liked to sit by the bed as Keiji fell asleep, and Keiji was so used to the feel of Koutarou’s fingers brushing through his hair that he didn’t think he would be able to sleep without it. Keiji would wish him a good morning, Koutarou would wish him a good night, and Keiji would close his eyes, and fall asleep to the golden afterimage of Koutarou’s eyes that helped to guide him through his dreams back to the waking world.

* * * * * * * * *

On the morning after the third night, Akaashi leaned against the counter, staring at the front door.  
  
It was nearing sunrise and Koutarou had yet to appear.  
  
Could the stars be late a fourth night? What if they didn’t appear after that? What was he supposed to do when supplies were down to the last crate? Orders had been especially high this month, as was usual during drawn out nights and the dreary weather of winter.  
  
Akaashi saw the door open first instead of hearing the weak creak, and Koutarou’s face peered round.  
  
Their eyes met. Koutarou gave a small shake of his head.  
  
Akaashi was calm. He was, despite him digging his fingers into his folded arms, all the while feeling like someone had poured a cold, tar-like substance over his head to slide down his face, and neck, and heart.  
  
“It’ll be okay—”  
  
“How can you tell, this has never happened before.” Akaashi winced; that came out much sharper than he intended. He gripped his arms harder to try to get ahold of himself. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Koutarou placed the basket gently down, closed the door with another quiet creak and took careful steps towards him, like he was trying not to startle him. Akaashi dropped his gaze to the floorboards, calculations of stock and probabilities and worst-case scenarios popping up one by one—  
  
A finger pressed the space between his brows. Akaashi looked up to meet warm eyes full of energy.  
  
“You’re thinking like Akaashi again.”  
  
Koutarou said this whenever Akaashi began to panic, or fret, or worry, or snap, or any other emotion that dipped below ground level into negativity.  
  
It was true that towards the end of his childhood years he was increasingly referred to as ‘Akaashi’ or ‘Akaashi-san’, and as a result, he thought of himself more in ‘Akaashi’ than he did ‘Keiji’. However, it was also true that he still didn’t fully understand what Koutarou meant by it.  
  
“Akaashi is also my name, and I’m still the same person.”  
  
“You start thinking too hard, forcing answers to fit into logic people expect you to use because it’s what’s normal.”  
  
Akaashi took deep breaths, trying to find the fine line between ‘Akaashi’ and ‘Keiji’.  
  
“Do you remember when we first met?”  
  
“Of course I do,” Akaashi snapped, his words sharpened one more, but this time he wasn’t sorry. “How could you think I wouldn’t?”  
  
“Okay. Then how did you feel when you saw me?”  
  
Akaashi recalled that night. The weight that had been crushing him, the ache in his chest. The eyes – the very same pair staring expectantly at him now – a familiar mixture of sunrise rippling in the waves.  
  
“I never wanted to stop gazing at you.”  
  
Koutarou released his finger. “And you still haven’t. Isn’t that great?”  
  
Those words filled his heart and Keiji felt his expression soften. It didn’t release his fear completely, but he felt a little more sure of himself.  
  
“But what do we do?” It was a serious question that demanded a serious answer.  
  
“We’ll drink tea, and go to bed, and it’ll be nighttime again. I’ll go outdoors like I always do, you’ll stay indoors like you always do, and it’ll be fine.” Koutarou took his hand; it felt reassuringly warm. “Everything will be fine.”  
  
And because it was Koutarou saying it, Keiji believed him.

* * * * * * * * *

The following night, sometime around midnight, the door slammed open and Akaashi turned, lifting his goggles which tugged at his hair to stick up in odd directions—  
  
A glow could be seen from inside the basket.  
  
His stool screeched as he shot up and rushed over, squinting at the globs of light as he counted two, four, six – _nine_ , almost twice the usual amount.  
  
“I wonder what happened—”  
  
“Test them out, Keiji!” Koutarou ordered, loud and excited. “Right now, test them!”  
  
Akaashi pushed his goggles back down again and took the basket from Koutarou, returning to place it carefully on his worktop. He pulled on his gloves and reached in – slowly, so as not to startle the star – and slipped his fingers underneath the topmost one, letting it settle into his cupped hand and raising it to his face.  
  
Even through the protective screen it was far brighter than any he had ever handled, and he wondered whether this was due to the delay. Had the extra day concentrated their power? Or had it been through an outside influence? He asked himself questions as he put the star onto the navy, velvety seat, the colour to create a familiar setting and the material extra soft for comfort. He stroked it with his thumb—  
  
It flickered like a shudder, and half melted.  
  
Keiji paused from touching it again, craning his neck to closer examine this star. At his touch the stars usually hardened in defence and here was one almost relaxed. He could probably use it right away if he wanted, but he thought it best to be polite.  
  
“I would like to request your aid,” Keiji spoke his request as was customary, his tone a touch above a whisper and as velvety as the star’s bed. “To bind yourself around worries and soothe the disquiet of those who do not possess your courage, but wish to. Please illuminate their hearts as brightly as you do now, so that it may shine through in their deeds and words, and in turn touch the hearts of others.”  
  
The star melted completely; Keiji pinched the edges of the sheet and tipped it into a funnel inserted into a glass bottle – also navy blue – and labelled the date in white pencil, then placed it next to a group of bottles contained in a warm bath.  
  
“Is it okay?”  
  
Slowly nodding, Keiji looked up at Koutarou. “It is extremely potent, and more pliant towards my requests—”  
  
“I made them!”  
  
Keiji blinked at him, then repeated the three words back to himself in his head.  
  
“…What?”  
  
“I made the stars! I told you I was a wishing star! I wondered what would happen if I tried – I’ve got so much energy and thought maybe I could make one, and then I concentrated really, really hard—”  
  
“What do you mean you made them?” Akaashi tugged the goggles off his head. “How?”  
  
“I just said! I cupped my hands like this” – Koutarou cupped his hands – “and then scrunched my eyes really tight and thought about how I really wished to make a star for you, and—”  
  
Koutarou faltered in his step, and Akaashi jumped up to grab his arm.  
  
Koutarou waved him off. “I’m fine! It just made me a little tired, that’s all.”  
  
Akaashi tightened his grip. “Koutarou-san, a star cannot make a star. It would only make you a… a ‘Star Creator’, not an actual star.”  
  
That wasn’t what Akaashi had meant to say.  
  
Koutarou groaned loudly. “There you go again. I know what I feel like I am!” He winced and shook his head. “I think I want to lie down.” He said this in a much quieter tone than was normal.  
  
“I think you should as well.”  
  
They made their way through the living room, and to the very end of the corridor through the door on the right that led to Koutarou’s bedroom. Akaashi helped Koutarou down onto the mattress, and Koutarou slipped under the sheets – he gave Akaashi a sleepy smile, and closed his eyes.  
  
Akaashi stared.  
  
Stared, because Koutarou had told him he was the one who made the wishing stars.  
  
Because Koutarou had thought to attempt making a wishing star.  
  
Because Koutarou had insisted he himself was a wishing star.  
  
Because Koutarou – who was the last person Akaashi saw when he closed his eyes, who was the first person Akaashi thought of when he woke up whether or not he was there—  
  
He had never once slept since his arrival. And here he was, lying down in his bed, eyes closed, breathing steadily and heavily, fast asleep.  
  
And for once it was Akaashi who pulled the cover over his sleeping form – over his shoulders to tuck him in and protect his cooling body – and Akaashi who watched over him, hoping there would be something within Koutarou to help guide him back to opening those eyes again.

Akaashi took himself to the library while Koutarou slept.  
  
Every book in the library was equal in size, unwieldy to hold with one hand and weighted by the name of the person – which was to say, in order to be carried it had to be held with both arms and clutched close to a person’s chest. The book was created upon a person’s first visit, their name written in gold along the spine in the same handwriting they had scrawled on the first page when they had received the blank book. Within the pages the person wrote what they wished to know, and words swirled onto the page to reveal information that may or may not seem relevant at first glance, but always contained the answers anyone needed.  
  
Akaashi walked up to the counter manned by Yukie who was eating onigiri, asked for his book, and refused the offer of her last onigiri when his stomach growled in envy.  
  
“I can’t be distracted,” he said decisively.  
  
He then followed the snaking corridor, squashed by shelves on either side so no two people could walk past each other without an exchange of apologies as they sidled past, to a small room of tables and chairs. It was easy to tell visitors and villagers apart, as it was only ever the visitors who chose to sit in this area.  
  
Being a villager, Akaashi took the small spiral staircase in the far corner that led him up to the other floors – specifically to the very top, nine floors up and encased in a glass dome. There was only a thick sheet of carpet, large cushions, and little lamplights dotted along the walls which one took to light up their desired researching space. During the day a shield was drawn to protect the readers from the sunlight, thousands of tiny dots covering the metal accompanied by the current moon phase to resemble the night sky.  
  
(Everyone who had the wisdom of an owl knew it was more effective to research at night, the moon and stars watching over the curious while acting as gentle guides to point anyone in the direction in which they needed to go.)  
  
As Akaashi took a seat at the far end, he remembered how, after Koutarou had first appeared, the two of them had spent night after night researching his identity, asking every possible question imaginable related to stars.  
  
(He also recalled that for the first few nights, Akinori looked disapprovingly when they returned gilded books to the counter, having left the top floor shimmering in the dim flickers of the flames. And then one night when they arrived, they found that the stardust mysteriously dissolved, both in the room and on the page. Keiji had pondered asking Akinori to devise the same for their home, but decided against it, thinking it felt too much like he was rejecting a very important part of Koutarou.)  
  
Akaashi waited, thinking on his first question as he heard slow footsteps approaching from below, and Wataru appeared, crossing the room to bring him his book, and a large owl feather, and a bottle of ecru ink, and with the briefest of greetings, Wataru left him to it.  
  
Akaashi set the book down on the floor and lifted the heavy cover, flipping through the filled pages until he came to one blank.  
  
He picked up the feather nib, dipped it a few times in the ink, and wrote in neat, curly writing—  
  
_How to create a wishing star.  
  
_Words began to swirl across from the four corners of a very short paragraph. Akaashi waited out the few seconds for the book to complete forming its message before beginning to read.

  
_  
To create a wishing star, one must possess:  
  
1) the mental, physical, spiritual, and emotional strength equal to that of a star;  
2) a steadfast desire to create light out of a void;  
3) adamantine focus; and  
4) a reason outside of the self.  
  
Then they must sit still and wish for the wishing star to come into existence._

  
  
The instructions were simple. So simple that Akaashi almost laughed, thinking even he would be able to create one – had he possessed all four requirements.  
  
Koutarou was always bounding and shifting and rustling and generally making his presence known even without speaking, but if this was how Koutarou had made the wishing stars, Akaashi had to commend him for being able to sit still for such a prolonged period – _nine times_ – in order for the stars to appear.  
  
Akaashi flipped through his book, scanned through the notes on wishing stars made since Koutarou’s arrival. Their origin, their history, none of them contained answers any longer than a sentence. ‘Wishing stars originated in the vastness known as space’. ‘Wishing stars have existed for over ten thousand cycles of the seasons.’  
  
(It was said that the book replied in the same nature as the person. Akaashi’s notes were always precise and to the point. So to the point that sometimes he wished he was slightly more accommodating, both to others and to himself.)  
  
Akaashi threw his head back and looked at the artificial stars, trying to find an answer within their patterns.

After some time the shield cracked and began to split open, and he stared up at the real stars, trying to find an answer within _their_ patterns.

As time continued to tick, Akaashi felt it running out. His hand – still holding onto the pen – hovered over the page, and he rifled through all the words he knew to chance upon the one that would strike the right question. What else could he ask on wishing stars that he had yet to ask?  
  
“If only Koutarou-san were here.”  
  
Koutarou was always filled with questions and never hesitated to voice them aloud. In the beginning Akaashi thought some of those were foolish, but as he grew older, he realised he had been the fool for scoffing at a person’s curiosity, especially when they hungered to know more rather than be content with what they had.  
  
(Though there was certain wisdom in contentment, too, but one had to know when was the right time.)  
  
Akaashi had relied on Koutarou far too much and had not asked nearly enough.  
  
He sighed and lowered his head – stardust scattered over his face, and he sneezed.  
  
What was the one question he would like to know?  
  
_Who is Koutarou?_  
  
Koutarou had once asked that exact question and it had sent the book into a frenzy, which sometimes happened when the question was too broad and too vague, the answers that appeared never ending. Akinori came to help them, taking the book off their hands and bringing Koutarou a newly bound book, instructing them on the importance of narrowing down their question.  
  
Narrowing it down.  
  
What had Akaashi called Koutarou?  
  
A Star Creator.  
  
But even to Akaashi, that title sounded wrong. And so in the words of Koutarou he wrote down what he wished to know:  
  
_Who is the Wishing Star Koutarou?_  
  
Akaashi read back his question and noticed the slip; he had meant to write ‘star’ on its own, and somehow the ‘wishing’ had made it through. No matter – words began to form, and Akaashi balanced the end of the nib on the rim of the bottle, waiting for the movement along the pages to stop.  
  
Akaashi read in time to the pounding of his heart – rushed and increasing by the second.

  
_  
The Wishing Star Koutarou is the first of the wishing stars. A lone asteroid heated as it passed through the flaming cataract from a looping solar flare and cooled as it floated away, then cracked open against the very outer layer surrounding the earth whence Koutarou was born. The asteroid was a part of near-concentrated darkness existing the furthest distance away from light, and was so drawn to the brightness radiating from the heart of a system built from hope and forever gravitating towards love, that it tore itself from its home; the weary sigh of the universe sent it on its way so it could travel to the source.  
Each intake of his breath enkindles a cluster of stars, each exhale sweeps them away. While the stars are sensitive to the smallest of movements and drift in all directions, they will always try to make their way back to their Creator._

_  
  
_Akaashi searched for more on the blank page, flipped through every single page of the book to the back, and then back to the front again to read the paragraph once more.  
  
Again. And again.  
  
Until his gaze stopped at Koutarou’s name and rested there.

“What have I done?”

Akaashi pushed open the door to his home – he could hear a faint call of his name, gentle pattering of footsteps, and sudden warmth wrapped around him that should be boiling on his skin after the walk in the freezing night air, yet he felt nothing except the guilt and shame from his act all those years ago.  
  
At a sudden shake of his shoulders he glanced up to see Koutarou, his cheerful expression replaced with worry.  
  
“Keiji, what’s wrong?”  
  
Akaashi repeated out loud the same words he had been repeating in his head as he made his way home—  
  
“I have single-handedly destroyed the wishing stars.”  
  
Koutarou frowned. “I can make the stars, how can you have destroyed them—”  
  
“Had you still been in the skies you would forever be creating wishing stars, and future generations would all be able to share your blessing. But I willed you down to earth, and down to earth you fell, I shrank your lifespan and turned you human, and I have brought about a limit to the stars’ existence. We must—” Akaashi swallowed, pushed through the crevasse that had formed in his chest. “We must find a way for you to return.”  
  
Koutarou broke out into a smile, began to reach out to him. “You’re thinking like Akaa—”  
  
“ _I am serious!_ ”  
  
Koutarou’s hand halted mid-air, his smile swept away with the rush of anger that came his way. He lowered his hand.  
  
And then he peered into Akaashi’s face, and said—  
  
“If that’s what you really want, I can go.”  
  
Akaashi wasn’t expecting Koutarou to agree so quickly.  
  
He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t form the words. His brain was telling him of what he needed to say, his heart was telling him another, and the words were stuck jumbled in his throat, trying to push past each other without success.  
  
“If it’ll make you happy. If you want me to return and make the stars, so you can give them to everyone, and then teach your apprentice the art so they can continue to make the potions long after you’ve gone, and then for the cycle to repeat, on, and on, and on. I’ll do it.”  
  
Akaashi choked, his bottom lip quivering as his vision blurred and he almost shook his head – stopping himself at the first shift of his head, knowing it would be taken as an answer.  
  
“Or will it make you happier, Keiji, if I stayed – with you?”  
  
Any other time and Koutarou would be on him, wrapping himself around Akaashi in an attempt to shield him from what was causing him despair, but tonight he made no move.  
  
He was serious, too.  
  
And then Koutarou smiled.  
  
It reminded Keiji of foreglow, the short span of time where the spread of sunlight from the promised sun and speckled stars against the lightening sky shared the same space.  
  
“I’m going to go out for a walk and give you some time to think. Tell me your answer when I get back.”  
  
The Wishing Star turned his back to him, and without a touch or another word he walked out, the door swinging closed between them, shutting Akaashi in, and Koutarou out.

Koutarou didn’t return by dawn.

And he didn’t return by nightfall.

And Akaashi sat at his worktop with his face buried in his hands, the same hands that were usually so adept now soaked in a solution he knew without tasting to be saline.

* * * * * * * * *

Akaashi carried the mirror under one arm and walked to the clearing. He held the mirror out and wandered around, checking its reflection to see if Koutarou had found a way to return to the sky; it was the first time the sheet of blue-black made Akaashi breathe a sigh of relief. He knew in his heart that Koutarou wouldn’t leave him for the skies, but it was for his own peace of mind that he trekked out to the clearing night after night for the first week, his movements as heavy as his eyelids due to his mind tugging at him to continue thinking every time he tried to fall into peaceful slumber.  
  
Then he stopped searching. Not because he had given up hope or he no longer cared. It was because he thought himself a fool for not trusting Koutarou’s parting words. Koutarou never said anything he didn’t mean. If he said he would return, he would return, and the only thing possible for Akaashi to do was to wait.  
  
And to think.  
  
For this, he shortened his work hours. The people in the village visited to ask where Koutarou was, and Akaashi professionally told them that he had some extended business that needed tending to outside of the village, which required some time. They nodded in understanding – Koutarou was a helpful man who shared himself with everyone, it was only a matter of time he would spread his wings and travel out. They then made a purchase – perhaps out of pity from seeing the weary star catcher, or perhaps to show gratitude – and left with a nod or a smile, a quiet word or two of encouragement.  
  
Keiji graciously accepted their kindness, and used their support to help him form his decision.

* * * * * * * * *

On a night where the stars shone especially bright from the lack of a moon, Akaashi finally faced his worktop after a busy evening of people trickling in and out, and in and out again. It had been the same for the last two weeks. It wasn’t to do with a growth in business, rather people wanted to see the wonder that was his workshop.  
  
For his shop-studio had become completely glitter-filled, so much so that there were piles of stardust building up in whatever nook and cranny that remained undisturbed. In the beginning he had tried to sweep them outside, and it seemed like he had succeeded until he looked up after spending an hour or two working on his mixtures and the room was covered in the stuff once more. Akaashi even had to put a mask over his face, the stardust finding the gaps to tickle his nose; he still sneezed more than he liked, though he could manage the hourly frequency better than every few minutes, which was the case if he left his face uncovered. He rationalised that Koutarou must have infused stardust into the stars he had created, and that through Akaashi working them into concoctions they were released from their solidified state.  
  
Another creak, and Akaashi tried not to sigh at the disruption.  
  
“I’ll be with you—”  
  
“ _Wow!_ ”  
  
Akaashi stilled his hands.  
  
Only for a moment, just for his brain to confirm that the voice he heard matched the one in his memory, and then he pushed his goggles up, squinting at the light from the mixture he was working on, and pushing himself off the chair he turned to find—  
  
“This room is amazing!”  
  
Koutarou stood by the door wearing the same smile as the one he had left Akaashi with.  
  
And before he knew it, Koutarou was striding up and throwing his arms around him – Akaashi grabbed onto the broad shoulders to stop himself from tipping backwards.  
  
He may have managed to steady his feet, but the bottle containing emotions from the past month was not so lucky; while it had been tightly packed and tightly corked and stored in the darkest corner within, it became dislodged from its resting place to fall and smash against his hardened answer, its contents spilling out to dissolve his resolution, uncertainty starting to appear on how he should reply should Koutarou ask—  
  
“Did you find your answer?”  
  
Akaashi blinked at hearing the question so clearly, and huffed a laugh that should have been cold from loneliness but was warm with affection; he had forgotten how direct Koutarou could be and it was refreshing after spending weeks listening to his own roundabout reasonings as he tried to muddle through his thoughts.  
  
“What would you say if I said to you no?” Akaashi asked in return.  
  
Koutarou tipped his head to one side and then to the other, like the two angles gave different insights.  
  
“You’ve never lied to me before, Keiji,” Koutarou said as he straightened his head.  
  
“No, I haven’t,” Akaashi agreed. “And I won’t start now. Could you repeat your question? I don’t wish to answer wrongly.”  
  
“Would it make you happier if I stayed?”  
  
Akaashi grimaced, though it was hidden behind the mask. “Weeks of absence and you ask me this as soon as you step foot into the house.”  
  
His reply was to walk past Koutarou to the door.  
  
“Please follow me.”  
  
Outside, Akaashi pulled off his mask and breathed the fresh air frosted in place from the dipping temperatures. Stardust floated around him, leaving a trail for Koutarou to follow all the way to their very first meeting place, which was where he stopped and raised his head at the patch of blue that looked like a gape in the sky.  
  
“Your question is unfair, Koutarou-san, because you knew when you asked that I could never give you a truthful answer. Whether I said to you yes or no, both would be mixed with the opposite, thereby not giving you one hundred percent, which is what you always expect of me.” Akaashi glanced to him. “But you knew this, didn’t you?”  
  
The fond look he received squeezed his chest.  
  
“I knew you’d figure it out, too.”  
  
“So how can I give you an answer that will satisfy you?”  
  
Koutarou lifted up the flap of the messenger bag—  
  
(Akaashi realised then that the bag, along with the clothes he was wearing, were all unrecognisable, and he wondered where this wandering star had been—)  
  
“I know what your answer is right now, Keiji, because I know you. So I brought you these. I think they’ll help.”  
  
Koutarou took Akaashi’s hand – the touch was overly warm and sourly missed – and he turned it to be palm-side up, then did the same to his other so Akaashi was holding out both hands.  
  
And then Koutarou reached into his bag and placed something on top, one item at a time, until Akaashi’s hands were full.  
  
“Do you know what they all are?”  
  
A bracelet made of stones as transparent as an honest confession, held in place with silver carved with the swirls of the metal language in a town far north. Its gate was guarded by a formidable keeper who never spoke and moved his feet to let a visitor pass only when their words moved his heart. The rule was the same for each ring of wall and their respective gatekeepers, which eventually led to the core where the maker resided, rumoured to be a chatty fellow who helped his guest rest their mouth and mind.  
  
A traditional hand ball with colourful threads intertwined into patterns concealing wards and good luck. The craft wasn’t unique, there were craftsmen scattered across the land making more intricate and inspiring art, although none except one used the sleek threads belonging to the trickster fox twins who gifted their glorious fur to anyone they deemed worthy. That one crafter, who lived down south while his name pointed north, was not only worthy but also the only man the twins revered. Receiving the ball was easy – it was a matter of asking politely. Of course, one had to first sit through a conversation over tea and a sweet – not so simple as it sounded when the crafter had a talent for slicing sentences with sharp logic to peel and reveal the person’s true character lying underneath.  
  
A small figure of a good-luck cat. Again, this well-known talisman could be bought anywhere, however, this particular calico beckoned a daily trickle of luck, so long as the cat deemed their owner intriguing, a reminder of sorts to act in a way that would not go against a person’s true nature. The gift was given after following feline guides through the town’s maze; the black cat was said to be especially fickle, helping the visitor one moment and in the next seeking entertainment at the visitor’s expense.  
  
Two feathers – one coloured coal and the other snow – balanced across his hands. They could have belonged to any crow and eagle had their enormous sizes – at least two handspans of an adult man – not indicated they belonged to the magnificent aves residing in the respective woods of the twin mounts. They conversed only with the nearby tribes specialised in their tongues and gifted their feathers directly to anyone who came seeking their guidance. Should someone dare to steal the feather, directly from the creatures or from the giftee who had been bestowed the feather, they would find themselves buried neck deep in ill-fortune until they made a trip to see the bird of the reverse colour of whichever feather they stole, to beseech them for forgiveness and a counter-feather to neutralise their luck.  
  
And then the turquoise kernel, a prize given by the Great King himself. It grew only within the mysterious kingdom wherein he resided; its location unknown as he always sent trusted envoys to act in his stead. It was said that by consuming the kernel, the person was able to have a single wish granted to them – even to become ruler of the kingdom if they so wished – so long as they were able to form the words under his loaded stare, for it was him and him alone who could grant their heart’s desire.  
  
Akaashi knew what all of those were, because he had been assigned to research such objects – and more – before starting his work as a star catcher.  
  
“How on earth…” Akaashi looked up. “How did you get ahold of all these?” None could be bought or traded, which only left two possibilities – Koutarou had visited these people and places himself, all within the short frame of a month, or—  
  
“Did you wish for these?”  
  
Koutarou sputtered. “You know I wouldn’t do that! I _scoured_ the land for them! Do you know why?”  
  
Akaashi’s gaze travelled across the items, trying to lock onto one that would give him an answer. “To prove you’re exceptionally talented at communicating?”  
  
A finger pressed against his forehead. Even that was a welcome gesture after what had been the longest they had ever been parted.  
  
“That’s an Akaashi answer. You’re being stubborn – but I guess that’s my fault for not being here for so long. So I’ll tell you—  
  
“There’ll always be something for people to make a wish on.”  
  
The answer struck and shocked him into stillness.  
  
“I spoke to everyone who gave me these,” Koutarou continued, “and you know what they all said? You could find anything – a piece of rock or a small leaf – to ground your wish on, so long as you believed. You’re the one who said it – it’s not enough to make the wish, you have to believe. And you always tell the people who buy from you, ‘Keep your eyes open, because unless you do, the response will slip right on past.’”  
  
Koutarou leaned in, and the light from his eyes burned into Keiji’s.  
  
“What about you, Keiji? Are your eyes open?”  
  
Tears began to well; it may have been from forcing himself not to blink in reply, or his emotions stirring from the new answer unfurling from the old.  
  
“How could they not be,” Keiji whispered, “when I can see the answer staring back at me, refusing to move unless I acknowledge its presence?”  
  
The corners of Koutarou’s eyes crinkled. “Tell me what your answer is. I’ll do anything you want me to, you know that. So long as your answer’s one hundred and twenty percent true.”  
  
Keiji broke out into shaky laughter. “It’s only ever possible to give one hundred percent of myself.”  
  
“You’re not counting all your stardust.”  
  
“I think you mean _your_ stardust.”  
  
Koutarou reached out to Keiji and ran his fingers gently through his hair, and the hand he withdrew was so silken and shimmering it gave the impression it was composed entirely of the powdery, silver-gold motes.  
  
With a smile that was as radiant, Koutarou rested his hand on Keiji’s cheek.  
  
“No, Keiji, the stardust’s from you. It’s what you make when you fall in love with a wishing star who fell twice to be in love with you.”


	3. A Wishing Star (or Two?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking by with this funny little story... I’m still not quite sure how it happened, but I’m very glad it did :3

They always went out to make wishing stars.  
  
It seemed wrong to Keiji to create stars away from their natural environment, and he was fully aware that Koutarou, who didn’t mind where he made them so long as he achieved results, complied because of his adamance.  
  
So they sat, under the cloak of the new moon where stars sparkled brightest and were easiest to trace for searching eyes.  
  
As with all things – whether eating, or walking, or talking, or sleeping – Koutarou needed plenty of time to create. It had increased in small increments – a hundredth of a second, and then a tenth, and then a second, and then ten – until he sat almost in a meditative state for the whole night, just to produce a single star.  
  
During this time, Keiji gazed at the skies. The stars were never-changing in their positions, but that may have been to do with the fact he could no longer see into the distance even with his glasses on, lenses as thick as the goggles he used to wear. The brightness no longer affected his eyes either; rather they were at the right intensity for him to see things properly.  
  
Keiji also dozed. He brought a blanket to wrap loosely around them, weaved out of loose fur brushed from the fox twins, always keeping them comfortably warm whatever the season. His eyes would droop, and his head would lean forward, and forward, until his forehead landed on the cushion he clutched in his arms, which then immediately inflated and moulded to support his head and prevent any strain. A sweet scent was released to waft around him – of dewed flowers waking at dawn, a gusty afternoon breeze, mist haunting the evening lake – whatever the current climate of the gardens spread below the Great King’s blue castle. The soft landing would raise a swirling cloud of stardust that would make him sneeze – though he was too far gone to be stirred awake the first time. When he shifted with a movement large enough to make the stardust scatter again, his second sneeze would rouse him, and he would look aside with bleary eyes to find Koutarou, still with his eyes closed and his hands cupped, concentrating.  
  
And then Keiji watched Koutarou. He was far past the age of making bets now, but if there was one he could be enticed into joining (and be confident in winning) it was that Koutarou was the brightest star in the whole of this world, and all the worlds in the vast heavens spread above him.  
  
Tonight, Keiji felt surprisingly awake. He didn’t know why – he was stirred by an unknown prospect awaiting him, except in reality there was nothing else planned besides returning home to sleep.  
  
So instead of staring at the skies or resting his head on the cushion, he decided to just think nothing at all.  
  
Well, maybe he did a little thinking while star gazing.  
  
Koutarou’s hair was the same colour as the day Keiji first set eyes on him, the difference being the star trails were finally travelling in the right direction, falling over his eyes instead of shooting upright. In contrast, Keiji’s hair had gradually turned from the shade of new moon to glowing full. The stardust no longer stood out at first glance, making his hair nitid only when light struck at the right angle so it looked to be braided with threads of lunar light.  
  
(Keiji thought he preferred it this way.)  
  
There was something peaceful about Koutarou, which, if he could meet and tell his younger self, he was sure he would receive an incredulous look that would have him chuckling and patting the mess of black hair. Keiji put the reason down to the stars. Koutarou put all his energy into creating only the best stars for Keiji, and that took countless hours of dedication; apparently even the most buoyant of people found their energy bobbing quietly with the channelled waves when creating the perfect gift for someone.  
  
Eventually he saw a light glowing from Koutarou’s hands, growing gradually bigger until the orb was the size of a plum, the smallest out of all he had ever made, but the biggest he could make now without passing out.  
  
Koutarou shifted, and he rolled his shoulders a few times.  
  
“How are you feeling, Koutarou-san?”  
  
Koutarou shrugged the blanket off as he stretched – his bones cracked in a few places – and he lowered the star into the basket. “Like I could sleep for days.” He pushed himself off the floor with a loud grunt and some more cracking, and gave his hands and feet a shake.  
  
Keiji smiled, drawing in the blanket and taking the corners to start folding—  
  
He shivered, a breeze brushing against his neck and sending a gelid chill shooting through his bones; he looked to the direction whence it came and found no follow-up breeze to keep his hair standing on end.  
  
“You actually did last time,” Keiji said, resuming their talk and his folding.  
  
“And I can’t believe you let me – three full days, and you didn’t think to wake me up!”  
  
“You looked extremely peaceful. It felt a shame to cut your rest short.”  
  
Koutarou came to stand before him and Keiji looked up to find him squinting – Keiji was sure it wasn’t because he had bad vision. In fact, his vision was apparently as clear as ever.  
  
“I think you want to say you enjoyed the peace and quiet while I slept.”  
  
“Well, yes, there was that, too—”  
  
“Keiji!”  
  
Keiji chuckled and placed the blanket on top of his cushion. “Would you mind helping me up?”  
  
Koutarou’s open hand hovered before him, large and powerful, heavy folds of his palm lines shadowed thick and dark from the starlight-infused crystal band glowing on his finger. Keiji rested his own hand on top, so much more slender and gnarly, and with a swift tug Koutarou lifted him up without Keiji having to lift his own weight, and Keiji lowered his feet slowly until they touched the ground; Koutarou released his hand only when Keiji was steady.  
  
“Thank you,” Keiji said, tucking the soft bundle under his arm as Koutarou picked up the basket.  
  
(Koutarou used to offer to carry everything, but Keiji’s nature wouldn’t have one set of hands full and the other empty.)  
  
“What do you feel like drinking tonight?” Koutarou asked.  
  
Keiji linked his arm around Koutarou’s, for support and for warmth – and because he liked to be pressed close to him. “I think your favourite should do the trick.” They had grown more generous with their treats – as generous as time had been by piling the blankets of years over them.  
  
The speed at which Koutarou walked matched Keiji’s, the rhythm not quite; Koutarou’s steps were even while Keiji’s left lagged a beat out of time. They walked slowly, careful of where they placed their feet. Keiji occasionally looked up to check the sky – he had always preferred his sky-toned potions, and even among them, the fleeting colours of dusk and dawn remained his favourite.  
  
He smiled to himself, a little fond, a little sad.  
  
The sun had already appeared in full when they stepped inside the house. They exchanged their belongings, Koutarou to put the blanket and cushion away, Keiji to take the star to the worktop.  
  
A single stroke was all it took for the star to melt in his hands, though Keiji still spoke to it gently before placing it into the bottle. He set it aside in its bath and glanced at the shelves, colours broken up by glaring gaps instead of blending into one smooth rainbow.  
  
He pulled his journal to him, flipped the pages to the last entry made in the table drawn freehand, and reached for the black feather quill, which had been resting in a jar with its companion white. They had been blessed so they contained a constant supply of ink of dawning orange and dusking purple.  
  
Even with special care the lines made by his hand were aquiver, and it was in this writing he filled each of the columns – date (month of extra layers), size (plum), quantity (1), intensity (10), estimated number of potions (9), estimated end—  
  
_Full moon_  
  
Keiji paused, then quickly closed the book and pushed it away, dropping the quill back into the jar.  
  
He gripped the edge of the table to push himself up and coggled to the next room, finding Koutarou standing in front of the hearth, unmoving as he held two cups of tea.  
  
“What are you looking at?” Keiji asked as he came up beside him to see the stone mantle; there were various ornaments but Koutarou was specifically looking at the family of clay cats. The black cat was lying down – cracked, into five.  
  
“Ah… they did say the black one was fragile and prone to breaking. What did it represent again?”  
  
The atmosphere suddenly felt grave, urging Keiji to glance up, only to find Koutarou brightening; the extra lines on his face were true to his moods, and they were gently curved to match his good humour.  
  
Keiji relaxed.  
  
“I don’t remember, so it doesn’t matter.” Koutarou turned away to set the cups down on the small table and then went to drop himself into the armchair with a loud ‘oof’.  
  
He held his arms out to invite Keiji in.  
  
“Don’t you want to drink your tea first?” Keiji suggested.  
  
“Not tonight.”  
  
Keiji supposed the lines on his own face must have been a little droopy for Koutarou to be swapping the order in which they completed their routine. He did as he was asked, carefully lowering himself onto Koutarou’s lap, letting Koutarou draw him in to a place comfortable for both, shifting around until he settled down.  
  
“You look tired,” Koutarou said.  
  
“That would be due to me not sleeping while I waited,” Keiji replied.  
  
“I thought it sounded quiet. Usually I hear you sneeze just after midnight, and again about an hour before sunrise.”  
  
“Is that how you were telling the time.” Keiji yawned, quietly and drawn out. “I’m not sure how much longer I can stay awake. I may end up falling asleep on you if I stay in this position.”  
  
He tried to push himself off, but Koutarou drew him in closer, burying his face into Keiji’s neck.  
  
“Stay like this a while longer.”  
  
Keiji glanced to the teas with the fading steam; they really should be drinking it while it was steaming. But Keiji was weak to Koutarou’s requests, so he accepted his offer by leaning back – he closed his eyes.  
  
“I’m not sad, Koutarou-san. If anything you should be the one in a dampened state.”  
  
“Because it’s the last time I’ll be making stars here?”  
  
“Here as opposed to where?”  
  
“…Get some rest, Keiji.”  
  
Keiji did the opposite, prying his eyelids open and glancing over his shoulder. “You sound like you’re going to have a surprise ready for when I wake.”  
  
Koutarou leaned back, trying to get a better view of him. “Don’t I always have a surprise for you, even if it’s just rice?”  
  
Keiji huffed a laugh. “Indeed you do. In that case, I look forward to seeing what you have in store for me – especially as you’ll have to arouse me first in order for you to move out of your chair, which I think you’ll find would make your surprise impossible to achieve.”  
  
“Nothing’s impossible, Keiji, just difficult. But this isn’t even difficult, because we won’t even have to move.”  
  
But by this time it was too much of an effort even to open his mouth, so Keiji let the statement be, closing his eyes and letting Koutarou’s breaths ghost over his ear.

As Keiji teetered on the very edge of slipping, he thought he heard Koutarou’s murmurs in the distance. He wasn’t quite sure what was being said, but it felt as fleeting and heart-stirring as a shooting star, and it made him hum in contentment. He murmured back, “Yes, Koutarou…” lips curling at how perfectly in tune that sounded to his ears.  
  
Warmth wrapped around his waist to anchor him, keeping ahold of him from falling asleep.  
  
To Keiji, sleep looked so dark, it may as well have been bottomless—

“Keiji – look up, not down.”

Keiji snapped open his eyes and glanced up to see the midnight sky – or what should have been the sky, but it was too thick with stardust suspended in the air that he couldn’t tell them and the stars apart.  
  
“Koutarou?” He glanced around and could just make out the familiar shapes of the trees around the clearing, looked behind—  
  
He inhaled sharply.  
  
“Why are you covered entirely in stardust?”  
  
For Koutarou looked like he had thrown himself into a huge cloud of gold powder, his brightness magnified a hundredfold, a thousandfold – and all the folds and unfolds and refolds to create an infinite kaleidoscope.  
  
Strangely, Keiji didn’t find the sight strain his eyes at all.  
  
“I told you – stardust’s what you make when you fall in love with a wishing star.”  
  
Keiji frowned, thinking he must have been feeling especially affectionate towards Koutarou for him to be creating so much.  
  
Koutarou took a step and took his hand. “It’s yours and mine, combined.”  
  
“Combined? But I’m not—”  
  
“Aren’t you?”  
  
Keiji looked down at their hands, one still sturdy and the other slender, both completely powdered in gold. And then he looked around, feeling like the dust – the stars – around them watched with held breaths, their eyes on the centre of all existence.  
  
“You… you wished for it.”  
  
“You said yes.”  
  
Keiji remembered the echo of a question from long ago, which overlapped – words tweaked but felt a perfect fit – the one he hadn’t been able to clearly hear.  
  
“…I did, didn’t I?”  
  
“Do you remember what happens now?”  
  
Keiji tightened his grip, a tingle flowing from his palm to the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes, to the soles of his feet and the top of his head, through all his nerves and vessels and everything he was.  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
Keiji raised his head to find Koutarou lit up, youthful and laughing and bright – the brightest being anyone would ever see.

“Ah. Well, I suppose that’s not quite so true now, is it?”

* * * * * * * * *

“I’m a _wishing_ star.”  
  
Sitting at the desk with a cookbook of potions open before him, Keiji heard Koutarou say this from behind like he had just discovered a new constellation.  
  
Keiji released a soft sigh. “What makes you think so?” There was a hint of exasperation in the way he said this now, being so used to Koutarou’s claims that he was a star. While the addition of ‘wishing’ was new, it sounded too outrageous to be true.  
  
“I just know it!”  
  
“It’s not a very convincing argument.”  
  
“You don’t believe me?”  
  
Keiji did, mostly, but there was a part of him that didn’t, and he wasn’t sure why, only that he felt it would mean he had to look a scary truth in the face, and he wasn’t sure he was brave enough to trace its features just yet.  
  
“Wishing stars grant wishes,” Keiji sidestepped the question. “And I have many wishes that continue to go unfulfilled – laundry to be washed by type and colour, food to be stored in their rightful groups on the right shelves, towels, cloths, and rags to be separated depending on the surfaces on which they are to be used—”  
  
“But they’re washed afterwards anyway, why does it matter?!”  
  
“And that line of thinking is exactly what stops my wishes from becoming real.”  
  
A hum – drawn out and emphasising concentration – filled Keiji’s ears and blocked any of the words he attempted to read, in the same way it blocked the last point Keiji made from entering Koutarou’s head. He looked over his shoulder to find Koutarou sitting up, arms folded and legs crossed, staring at the journal – Keiji’s journal – he had been flicking through as though it would magically reveal answers.  
  
“Oh – I know!” Koutarou’s expression cleared as he looked at Keiji. “Because wishing stars appeared around me without me doing anything!”  
  
“You already used that reasoning,” Keiji didn’t miss a beat in pointing out, “and I already gave you an answer – it wouldn’t mean you created them, it would mean they happened to appear around you. Besides” – he returned to his book – “I’ve never seen any appear since your arrival. And it’s said wishing stars hardly age – or at the very least take an extremely long time to age – and you’ve already outgrown your clothes twice this year.”  
  
“I’m only aging because I’m down here! If I was back up there, I wouldn’t age.”  
  
“Then perhaps you should find a way of going ‘back up there’,” Keiji said nonchalantly. “Please send me a picture of you looking as you do now when I’m eighty-eight.”  
  
“ _Keiiiiijiiiii!_ ”  
  
Keiji grinned. It always amused him when Koutarou whined at his deliberately chilled words.  
  
“I could wish myself back.”  
  
Keiji whipped his head round. “You shouldn’t use wishing stars on yourself.” It was an automatic reply, the very first lesson as a star catcher that had been taught to him, but it wasn’t for this reason he said it.  
  
“You did!” Koutarou accused.  
  
“I had no other choice,” Keiji reasoned, though the memory of his act still made him uncomfortable. “And I made it with the intention of wishing on behalf of everyone else whose lives would be affected.”  
  
The fact he received no reply signalled to Keiji that Koutarou agreed.  
  
He then imagined having to see Koutarou off and lowered his gaze.  
  
“…I would be sad if you did,” he said, allowing vulnerability to trickle gently from his lips.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I would have to say goodbye.”  
  
Koutarou began laughing. “You’re silly! Obviously you’d come with me!”  
  
“I’m not a wishing star, Koutarou-san,” Keiji reminded firmly, slightly put out that Koutarou found his seriousness humorous.  
  
“I could turn you into one if you wished to become one! And then you could help me back up there if I wished to go, and I could take you with me if you wished to come – that way we wouldn’t be using the wishes on ourselves, we’d be using them on each other! And we could live in the skies, and we’d hardly age, and we could do anything and everything we wanted!”  
  
Keiji’s imagination touched the cosmic idea for a second before flinching back to reality, and he shook his head. “No, thank you. Assuming I can live out the whole of my life expectancy, I would like to grow old, I think. I would like to reflect on my life and see the person I became and find out the ending to my story.” He paused, trying to imagine himself as a man, and then an old man. “I want to know how I would look when I’m older, too.”  
  
“You’d still be the prettiest person alive.”  
  
Keiji’s cheeks burned, and he buried his face in his book. “You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean.”  
  
“I do mean it!”  
  
“Then you shouldn’t say things that aren’t true.”  
  
“It’s only not true ’cause it hasn’t happened yet, but I know it will be when it does! ’Cause you’re the prettiest person alive right now—”  
  
“It’s not polite to deliberately embarrass people.”  
  
There was quiet, and then a quiet grumble— “I didn’t do it deliberately…”  
  
Keiji turned the page hoping that a fresh page would mean a fresh bout of concentration.  
  
“How about if you found yourself right on the cusp of life and death? Will you come with me then?”  
  
Raising his head, Keiji asked, “The cusp of life and death?”  
  
“Didn’t I use that right?”  
  
“…You did.” Keiji lowered his gaze to his lap and clasped his hands. “I suppose in that case… I might agree.” He rubbed the fingers of his right hand. “But no one knows when they will meet their end.” He then swapped to rub the fingers of his left. “And even if you could pinpoint the exact time to ask, I won’t know how to answer until the time comes.”  
  
“I know how you’ll answer!”  
  
A glance over his shoulder and he expected Koutarou to be grinning at him; instead his head was buried in his book, a secretive smile on his face.  
  
Keiji narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You think I’ll answer yes to all your suggestions. There’ll come a day when I’ll say no—”  
  
“And I’ll find something else you hadn’t thought about when you made your decision, and you’ll realise you’d meant to say yes all along!” Koutarou shot him a glance.  
  
Keiji pursed his lips again, but only to stop himself from smiling. “I’ll only answer yes if I believe it deserves a yes.”  
  
“I know,” Koutarou said happily, and he turned to the book once more. “But we both know all my suggestions deserve a yes, because they’re always so great!”  
  
Keiji broke out into a smile at Koutarou’s confidence, which never failed to give him some, too.  
  
“Perhaps. You’ll just have to keep on asking and find out.”


End file.
